Closer
by aesthesiogenic
Summary: Secret Sequel - Sherlock Holmes is hunting down the pieces that Moriarty left behind while Hannah stays safely at home. How safe is she exactly? Sherlock/OC
1. One

**Here it is. The beginning of the sequel. I hope you all enjoy it. **

**x  
**

"Sherlock Holmes!" The tall man who was currently bent over a microscope froze in his movements. He ran through the past day in his head. What did he do? She was angry and what did he do to provoke this? Then it hit him. The small brunette female stood at the bottom of the steps with a container outstretched in her hands. "How many times do I have to tell you to refrain from putting human body parts in the upstairs freezer?" Her face was slighly pale and Sherlock quickly grabbed the container and placed it in the freezer that it was supposed to be put in.

"I was using the oven." Hannah grimaced.

"We can get you an oven for down here..." She peered into a small petri dish by his side. "What are you doing?" Sherlock grinned.

"I found a trace." He sat back in front of his microscope. "A trace from a foot print at the last area. I believe this is where the base is." Hannah ran her hand across his back, rubbing slow circles.

"And once you find the main base?" Sherlock looked up at her from his position on the stool.

"Then I will have found where Moriarty ran his business from. I can take it down from the inside, find every last inch of it." Hannah bit her bottom lip. Sherlock was proud of his discovery.

In the past year Sherlock had left for periods never exceeding two weeks and each time she made him promise to come home. Each time he left she worried. Sherlock knew this and it was why he made an effort to call her at least once a day, sometimes twice. He saw the apprehension on Hannah's face and cupped her cheek in his palm. The pad of his thumb brushed her bottom lip. "It will only be a few days this time. Just to check it out." Hannah sighed and nodded.

She knew he had to do this. It was the only way he could finally be back on Baker Street. "Are you hungry?" She ran her fingers through his curls, tugging at a few knots. Sherlock shook his head. Hannah's fingers tugged his head back and she pressed her lips to his softly. "I'm going to make some chicken if you get hungry later." Sherlock mumbled a noise of approval and kissed her again. Hannah let her fingers drift down his back before she left the room.

Sherlock watched her go. The swivel of her hips caused a stirring in his trousers. The relationship between them had been slow. With Sherlock being gone most days of the year and Hannah's trauma they haven't gotten past heavy kissing in bed. Even then, its when Sherlock comes to bed on time. There were few occasions when they both wanted to go further but Hannah would freeze. He could feel her start to panic. Her heart would race and her whole body would start to shake. She wouldn't be able to meet his eyes. At that point Sherlock would reel himself back, calm her down and assure her that it was alright. He couldn't help but feel anger towards Moriarty. He often wished he could go back and pull the trigger himself.

Sherlock looked down at the petri dish under the microscope and sighed, rubbing his hands on his jeans. He stood from the table and went to join Hannah in the kitchen. Hannah was plating her food, her perfectly rounded hips swaying to music that was softly playing. He found himself drawn to her, letting his arms slip around her waist he buried his face in her hair. She placed the pot back on the stove and grasped his forearms, leaning back into his body.

"Are you alright?" She asked. She felt him nod. "Did you want some?" She felt him nod again. She turned her head and looked back at him, his eyes were closed. She turned to fully face him and brushed an errant curl out of his face, letting her fingers entwine in his hair. She let her forehead rest against his. The L word had not come up in conversation. Sherlock didn't simply say 'I love you'. She could feel the depth of his emotions toward her, but nothing had ever been established. If they told each other that they loved one another, then this would be a time where Hannah would say it. Instead she said, "When do you have to leave?"

She didn't want him to go. She never wanted him to go. If she could she would keep him locked up here where she knew he was safe instead of waiting for his phone calls. She knew that he had to go. If he were to ever want to return to London again, this was essential. She knew her wanting him to stay was somewhat selfish, but there was a small nagging fear that he wouldn't return. One day Sherlock Holmes wouldn't come home. No phone call, no text. Nothing. The fear was often crippiling.

"Tomorrow morning." Hannah frowned. Sherlock's arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer. Her hands dropped to his neck, thumbs brushing his cheek bones.

"That's soon." Sherlock opened his eyes looking down at the watery brown eyes just below him and frowned. He didn't reply, opting to kiss her instead.

Hannah would never get tired of Sherlock kissing her. He applied a perfect amount of pressure, she found when they first started kissing, Sherlock experimented with pressure, tongue movement, hand placement and more to find out what she liked best. He was kissing her now, lips pressing against hers and releasing, moving up and then down to capture her bottom lip. His hands massaged her scalp and this was the time he knew she would let out a breathy moan between kisses. He could read her body as easily as a case report and each kiss was more intense and beautiful than the last.

...

The last twenty mintues before bed seemed to become a coreographed event between the pair. Hannah would brush her hair and tie it up while Sherlock changed. Then Hannah changed and Sherlock checked to make sure all the doors and windows were locked. The pair would brush their teeth and climb into bed, each on their respective piece of literature, if not a tv program that Sherlock vocally despised but still watched because Hannah knew he secretly liked it. And finally they would turn off the lights and look at each other in the darkness. Hannah's right hand resting on the side of his face, thumb tracing his bottom lip in lazy motions while Sherlock's hand settled on her waist making soothing rubbing motions in time with hers.

Hannah felt the pressing urge to beg him not to go. Even if it were to be a few days, she could sense the danger in the mission. If this were to be his base then things might get violent if Sherlock is caught. He might get hurt. A frown had worked its way onto her face. Her fingers followed the pathway of ritual, memorizing his face.

"I will be back before Sunday." Hannah retracted her hand and curled against Sherlock's side. His arm wrapped more tightly around her. "You could always go and see John... a short visit. He would be happy to see you." Hannah nodded against his chest. His hand left her waist and tilted her chin up. She pressed her lips softly against his. In return Sherlock shifted them so she was laying on her back and he was hovering over her. His hand brushed her loose hair out of her face before capturing her lips again. His fingers played with the bottom of her shirt.

She wished her body would push further through this. She _wants_ him. She wants to feel him entirely, but it always came to a point where her mind would push him away. She felt anger towards herself for not being able to give him what he wants. He _wants _her. She couldn't help but feel such shame with herself. A large amount of shame and insecurity.

She could feel herself react to his touch, the dampness between her thighs was a clear indication of the effect he had on her. She could clearly feel the effect she had on him. She could even feel it now pressing against her thigh. Her hands grasped his waist and brought him to settle between her legs. She moaned into his kiss. His one hand beside her head, keeping him from laying on her, the other on her stomach, rubbing her skin.

Her skin was soft, so much softer than his own and that is what made him groan the most. The feeling of the heat of her body beneath his, lips and tongue against his own that made him feel such want. This desire was something he had repressed for so long that getting into it made him feel as though his body was on fire. He knew he had to end it before she became frightened. He pulled away, looking down on the girl beneath him. Her lips were swollen, chest heaving.

Her fingers met his scalp, massaging it, making him moan. "I have to get up early." He whispered. Her hands stopped their movements, falling to his shoulders.

"I know." His lips met hers once more and he rolled off of her, adjusting himself in his pajama bottoms. She rolled to her side and looked at him as he let out a deep breath. Her hand cupped his cheek, turning his head towards her. "Please wake me up before you go." His hand wrapped around her wrist and he kissed her once more.

"I will."

...

"Where is she?" A loud voice broke across the silence that was in the room. Sebastian Moran was glaring at the small group of men that stood before him. "Did you check the estate?" One of the men, the youngest, looked to his comrades and then back to Sebastian.

"We did, but no one was there." Sebastian tightened his grip on the gun held in his right hand.

"Did you wait?" His jaw was clenched. "Did you wait and see if it was inhabited?" The young man looked to the floor, he knew he messed up. The sound of the hammer being pulled back on the gun was followed by a shot and the young man fell to the floor. The other two men tensed in fear. "She left London and that is the only place she would go." Sebastian stood from his chair and walked to stand in front of them. "You find her and you bring her to me. Understood?" The two men nodded and left the room.

Sebastian sat back down at the desk once belonging to Jim Moriarty. He flipped open a leather book and stared down at the pictures in front of him. The pair of kids they used to be. Hannah's bright and smiling face looked back at him from the page.


	2. Two

Hannah looked at the ground. Sherlock's feet moved across the room, placing items in his bag that he needs for his mission. She was picking at her nails, bringing her thumb up to her mouth to bite at it. Sherlock wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand away from her mouth. His other hand tilting her chin up to look at him. Her eyes were watery. He pressed his lips to hers in reassurance. Hannah felt three words that had gone unspoken climb up her throat only for her to push them back down.

"I will call you tonight." He ran his fingers through her hair and down her spine. She shivered and pressed her lips to his in rapid succession. Pulling him by his hair to become closer to her. She lifted herself on her tip toes and kissed his lips, cheeks and jaw, his arms wrapping around her waist and bringing them as close as they possibly could be. She let her arms wrap around his neck. "A few days, just a few days." He whispered. She nodded and they slowly released each other. She watched Sherlock zip up his bag and she followed him out from their room and down the stairs.

She stood by the door and waited for him to grab a few things from his laboratory. The house always felt too big without him. They usually stuck to one side of the house, where their bedroom was, the study and the main stairwell to the lower level of the house. While it didn't seem full with just the two of them, certainly it didn't feel as daunting as when she was here alone.

She didn't know where her relationship with Sherlock is going. She knows she loves him, and she knows she wants to be with him, but there is a fear that when he returns back to Baker Street, he wont be the same affectionate Sherlock she knows now. He certainly wasn't before. She had dreams of marriage and kids at some point, but that feels so distant from her now. Sherlock didn't seem the kind to marry, nor did he seem to like children very much.

They haven't put a word on this relationship. He was exclusive to her just as she was exclusive to him, but was she his girlfriend? It has been a year and they haven't gotten past a little heavy petting. Hannah wondered if this was really enough for him, for both of them, or if she was just passing the time. Sherlock's heavy footsteps climbed up the stairs and entered the foyer.

Around the time Sherlock started leaving for these exhibitions he bought a car, one simple enough to go unrecognized as it drove through cities, small towns or wherever he goes but efficient in the way he needs to to function. She followed him out to the car and watched him put his bag inside. He shut the door and turned to her.

This was always the hardest moment. For Hannah at least. She could almost feel her throat swell and her eyes start to tear up. As though she wasn't already emotional enough. She wrapped her arms around herself and walked into his open arms. His chin rest on her head. "Friday. I will be back on Friday." She nodded against his chest and he gave her one last tight squeeze before climbing into the car. He gave her one last affectionate look and pulled away. Hannah waited for the car to disappear before she re-entered her house and locked the front door.

...

Since Moriarty's death, Sebastian Moran was left to pick up the pieces of a now crumbling empire. His life was considerably more lonely now and he _needed_ Hannah. He left her to calm down after the crescendo of events, Moriarty & Sherlock's death. He gave her a year to mourn and let herself get comfortable enough again to be more receptive to him. He had waited years to find her and one more would hurt. He was good at waiting. Patience is something he had plenty of, unlike Jim Moriarty.

Sebastian could wait. He was patient enough to befriend Moriarty, get on good terms with him, become his right hand man, and wait for his demise. Now it was his turn. It was his turn to get the girl, get the power, the money, the noteriety. The girl. It took copious amounts of self-control to keep himself from murdering Moriarty before he could commit suicide. The pain Hannah had been through.

Waiting outside of 221B for Moriarty to come out, adjusting himself in his trousers, before running in and attending to the crying and scared Hannah. Seeing Hannah like that, her empty eyes, his anger almost got the best of him. Almost.

A knock came to the door. "Come in." Finally, the man he wanted to see. He sent this man to check on the house once more, after another one of Sebastian's 'employees' failed the task he sent this man out and he was hoping not to be disappointed. The man stood opposite the desk with a manilla folder. "Well?" The man nodded.

"She's there." He handed the folder out to Sebastian, and the pictures he pulled out made his heart leap in his chest. Hannah out front on the steps of her home. In the kitchen. Getting ready for bed.

"Leave." Sebastian didn't look up from the pictures. He heard the door click and found a picture he was hoping for. He felt a swell of anger that one of his men got to see this, but the picture was a voyeurs dream. Hannah was stretching, breasts pressing tightly against the lace fabric of her bra, nipples visible through the fabric. Her panties were stretched across her hips, the panties tied by strings at the hips. He felt his cock swell in his trousers and he palmed himself through his pants. He was a patient man, but he figured why wait any longer? He has earned his prize. It was time to go and get it.

...

It was depressing. When Sherlock left it always was. The single serving dinners and laying alone in bed watching pointless television shows only further deepened this feeling. She was currently sitting in bed and watching a home improvement show, her mobile next to her. Sherlock should be calling soon. He called around this time the previous night, right after he came in from finding his way around the building he believed to be Moriarty's base.

Right on time her phone rang, and she smiled as she picked it up, bringing it to her ear and sinking into the blankets. "Hello?" She heard a breathy voice reply to her.

"Hi." She heard a creak of the bed in his hotel room as he settled against it. She grinned.

"Still in one piece?" She could hear him toe off his shoes and begin to unbutton his shirt.

"More or less. Weather is terrible." Sherlock wasn't overly fond of speaking on the phone. It meant a lot to her that he would do this. And he knew it.

"What do you want to eat when you get back?" Silence from the other line. She waited a moment, in case he was just thinking, but when it took a bit too long for him to reply, "Sherlock?"

"I think I have to stay a little longer." Hannah frowned.

"Why?" She heard him shift nervously on the other line.

"I think I can do more with a few more days, better planning." Hannah sighed. She knew this would only start an argument and she didn't feel up for an argument that she knew she was going to lose.

"Okay." Her voice was soft, slightly more sad.

"Okay? You don't want to..."

"No." She was upset. He knew she was upset, but he didn't know what to do about it. "I'm going to go... I'm tired." She was _very_ upset.

"Fine." Hannah tapped the end button and turned into her pillow. He was supposed to come home tomorrow. She couldn't help but feel afraid, not just for his sake, but her own. She was terribly afraid to be in this house by herself and each time she would build herself up to not be so afraid, but tonight seemed uncommonly eerie. She felt sort of uncomfortable. She tossed her phone on the bed and stepped into the bathroom to relieve her aching bladder.

She looked at herself in the mirror when she was washing her hands. Her messy brown hair was tied up, the large t-shirt she was wearing was Sherlock's. When he moved in here she went into the city and bought him plain clothes to wear around the house, but he still made her sneak some of his suits out of 221B while John was making tea. The shirt smelled like him and the comfortable worn fabric was slightly soothing to her. Underneath she wore a pair of old cotton pajama shorts. She felt unattractive. She could almost imagine Sherlock's arms wrapping around her waist from behind. He would press a kiss to her cheek and look at her in the mirror. With him she felt beautiful, no matter what she wore.

She flipped the light off in the bathroom, gasping at the unexpectedly dark bedroom she walked into. The television was off, but she knew for a fact she didn't turn it off. She felt fear. A fear she couldn't quite handle. She slid her hand onto the bed as quietly as possible and grabbed her phone, she quickly redialed Sherlock and waited for him to pick up. She heard someone's footsteps in the room. Sherlock picked up.

"Hannah?" An arm wrapped around her waist.

"No!" She screamed. She kicked her feet and squirmed trying to loosen her captor's grip. "No!" She could hear Sherlock yelling her name over the phone. She felt something sharp enter her neck and instantly found her muscles relaxing. Her assailant gently placed her on the bed. She couldn't move. He picked her phone off the ground and ended the call.

Sherlock stared at his phone. The complete terror he heard in Hannah's voice causing him to panic. He had to get home. Now.


	3. Three

**Hello darlings, I hope you are enjoying the story so far. I haven't been getting a whole lot of reviews so just let me know what you think! Thank you for reading **

**xoxo Ashley  
**

Hannah woke up in a bed. This bed almost fooled her into believing last night had been a dream. It was comfortable, too comfortable. She could feel the drug had moved out of her system, but felt sluggish as though moving through molasses. She felt a small throbbing pain where the needle pierced her neck and she slowly lifted her hand to it in an attempt to soothe the small ache. She found a small circular bandage over top of it, the middle of which she could press down and feel the ointment beneath it. Whoever her captor was, his aim was to care for her.

She moved her hand down to her side, fingers slipping against the high tread count sheets and she could feel the duvet that covered her from the waist down. Both of her arms moved so her hands could support the weight of her as she pushed up from the bed, coming to rest back on her knees, her face still pressed to the bed. She sat up one vertebrae at a time and felt a pleasing pop in her back. She couldn't feel panic yet. The drug lay heavy on her mind, she could liken the feeling to being drunk.

She turned and let her legs move from under her to rest over the side of the bed. Her feet didn't come close to touching the floor. The bed felt extremely high up when in reality it was just raised slightly higher than her own bed. The one she shared with Sherlock. The sensation of pins and needles made their way up her legs as she let her feet touch the ground, the feeling never being one she liked, she let out a loud groan in protest. Once the feeling diminished she slowly made her way across the room.

A pair of white double doors was her destination and she was slightly shocked with how long it had taken her to reach them. There were two silver handles which she gripped loosely with her hands, her muscles not being able to fully tense. She was slowly feeling her strength return to her. She opened the doors and they led to an equally white sitting area. She figured that this must be some sort of hotel. To her left was a kitchen, the breakfast bar stools sitting behind the tall island. White marble. She heard sizzling and there was a delicious smell in the air.

She slid her hand against the wall, each step a bit more confident than the last. She rounded the corner to see one person she thought she wouldn't see ever again. His broad shoulders and now very shaggy blonde hair moved, his head turning to face the plate where his arm held a spatula with a perfectly formed Belgian Waffle. Her mouth watered at the sight. His blue eyes turned towards her and made contact.

"Jacob?"

...

In a fit of anger once, John yelled at Sherlock telling him that he was a machine. He wondered how proud Johnny boy would be if he had seen how quickly Sherlock jumped into his car and sped back to the house. How his hands gripped the wheel so tightly he could have lost circulation in his finger tips or how his mind went through the many possibilities. His first thought was is Moriarty really dead? He faked his death, surely the consulting criminal could have also. But then again no. That possibility was ruled out. It could be one of Moriarty's men. But what value do they see in Hannah? Unless. His teeth ground as he muttered, "Jacob."

His fingers quickly pulled the keys out of the ignition as he sped into the house, the front door was still locked. He quickly jammed his key into the lock and turned letting himself into the house. He ran up the stairs two at a time knowing that at that particular time of night Hannah would have been in their bedroom. The door was left open and he immediately saw the thin blanket she used on the floor, her mobile next to it. A picture frame was shattered on the floor and the pile of folded laundry she had left on the chair to be put away the next morning was on the floor as well. Sherlock looked for anything that could help him, anything that could lead him to Jacob's location. Anything at all, but Sherlock knew he was good. Trained professional good, meaning he covered his tracks well.

Sherlock didn't know him very well, of all the times he met him the man had portrayed a nearly perfect bumbling idiot, but John. John knew him and John was the only person that could help Sherlock now. Sherlock shakily picked up Hannah's mobile. He selected a new message to Dr. John Watson and typed.

**I need your help. Now.**

...

Jacob moved towards her with a smile. Hannah stumbled backwards, hitting her shoulder on the wall and wincing. In his hand was a plate of perfectly formed waffles that he placed on the breakfast bar. He was allowing her to keep her distance. Why? He moved quickly to the fridge and pulled out a small plate of butter and a bottle of syrup. He placed them down on the bar and went back for the orange juice. He poured her a small glass and set it down next to the plate along with a large cup of ice water before wiping his hands on his trousers. "I made your favorite." She didn't know his aim and if there was anything she learned from Sherlock it would be to not attempt to leave before figuring out the plan.

She hesitantly moved to the stool closest to her, where her plate was set and lifted herself into the stool. He had an identical plate for himself on the opposite side of her. She picked up her knife and fork and cut herself a small piece, lifting it to her mouth and eating it. Jacob had always made the best waffles she had ever tasted and this time he didn't disappoint. She felt almost devious for indulging herself in these while she knew she left Sherlock to find her. She lay out a plan in her head.

Goal One: Find out what Jacob was up to.

Goal Two: Find out where she was.

Goal Three: Find a way to relay the information to Sherlock.

She had to work as quickly as possible to get these things done. The pair slowly consumed their food with an awkward tension in the air. "Jacob... why am I here?" He collected their empty plates and went to rinse them off in the sink. The last time the pair of them were together it ended with the death of Arthur Gregg. She had fear and anger swimming beneath the surface of her skin. She felt lost to the boy she grew up with, but it made it seem as though Jacob and Sebastian were Jekyll and Hyde. Right now she was with Jacob, the charming and kind Dr. Jekyll.

"I wanted to see you." He paused, shutting off the sink. "I knew you wouldn't really do this willingly, so I brought you here." He wiped his hands on a towel. Hannah didn't really know what to say. So she said,

"Can I go home?" She redirected her eyes to the window, stepping from her stool towards it. She heard him walk behind her and wrap his arms around her waist from behind as she looked out onto a street that she recognized.

"We can finally be together..." He whispered. "Why would you want to leave when we can finally be together?" Hannah felt uncomfortable. She felt sick. And she felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest as his lips pressed softly against her neck.

"Jacob-"

"I love when you call me that." Hannah bit her lip. He had given her the information she needed to relay to Sherlock. She knew both her location and Jacob's motive, but right now she couldn't help but feel a mixture of disgust and sadness towards the man behind her. She didn't know what to do. "Everyone knows me as Sebastian now." Jacob was making her really uncomfortable. She felt conflicted.

She used to know this man, this boy, he was her friend. Her only friend. She thought he had been her protector at one point. While a part of her didn't want to break his heart another part of her was seething, a bubbling anger was beneath the surface of her skin. She had to reach Sherlock and soon.

Jacob buried his face in her hair, the sweet smell of her intoxicating him. Her body was so warm and inviting. Her one hand moved towards his, grasping his wrist, her thumb brushing across his skin as she looked out onto the street her eyes were full of thoughts he didn't want to bother her by asking about them, not yet. He had to make her feel as comfortable as possible before he could move any further. He needed her.

Hannah was soon showering, the door locked and her thoughts to herself she was letting the hot water scald her skin. Jacob, the poor soul, seemed almost puppy-like. Different than he had been before. She rest her head against the tile, her body has a dull ache from the stiffness that was held in her muscles for so long. No matter their ties, no matter how far back their history went, he sided with Moriarty. He aided the man that ruined her life and murdered her family. The man that tried to kill Sherlock.

_Sherlock. _She knew he was worried. She had gone into town to see Mrs. Gregg for a few hours and he was tearing the house apart when she got back. She wondered how much he has put together so far. She wondered how she will get the information he needs to him.

...

Sherlock was ready. He text John as Hannah, knowing that he would respond to her quickly and be out here as quickly as he possibly could. Sherlock needed John's army expertise. John knew Sebastian just as Hannah knew Jacob. The things he has heard of Sebastian would be worth gold while trying to find Hannah. Or maybe he was just convincing himself because it has been over a year since he last talked to what Hannah referred to as his _best friend. _

A downpour had started, lightning lit up the sky and thunder roared. Sherlock sat on the steps, waiting for the doorbell. A pair of headlights cast shadows into the room he knew John would run to the door as quickly as possible to get out of the rain. Those few seconds between the headlights and the doorbell were the longest he could comprehend. He could feel a slight amount of anxiety and the first thing that came to his mind was how he wasn't the same man he used to be, the structure is still there but some things have changed.

The ringing of the doorbell almost made his heart stop. He pushed himself from the stairs and walked to the door, his hand on the heavy doorknob he turned it. John's hair was plastered to his head, the tops of his shoulders wet with rain, hands tucked tightly under his arms from the chill. John's eyes widened when Sherlock revealed himself from behind the door, his lips parted slightly. Sherlock waited for him to say something, anything. He didn't. His silence urged Sherlock to speak.

"Hello John." His voice wasn't as confident as it had been. John's mouth closed and his jaw clenched. Sherlock waited. John's hands dropped from his sides and his fists clenched. In a sudden movement John pulled his arm back and let his fist connect with Sherlock's jaw.


	4. Four

It was dark before Jacob bothered Hannah again. She sat pensively on her bed, her legs folded beneath her and her hands clasped in her lap. She heard him enter. He was carrying a tray with a two mugs of hot chocolate and a rather large slice of Hannah's favorite cake along with two forks. He set the tray down in front of her, before coming to sit beside her, their backs to the headboard.

His fingers slipped to the back of her neck, feeling the tense muscles. He massaged the muscles there, causing Hannah to let out an involuntary moan, and for a moment she forgot where she was.

/

Sherlock would often get bored. Being home most of the time, not being able to work on cases while letting the shock of his death die down, he tried to find projects to do around the house. Hannah sometimes found his projects annoying, the ones where he would be loud, rearranging furniture or hovering as she cooked their dinner.

Often while she was reading he would slip behind her, settling her between his legs so he could read over her shoulder an article in a newspaper or to see what book she was reading. His fingers would slip under the back of her shirt, running them up and down the soft flesh. He would lightly press on the spots he knew she grew knots in or where she tensed the most.

His breath would be hot against her neck, fingers slightly chilled against her skin he would begin to knead her muscles. Hannah loved these moments, the quietness of the house, the peace she needed to read, she would find herself wrapped up in Sherlock. At a particular knot in her lower back she moaned, leaning her head back against his shoulder. Her book fell shut in her lap as his lips pressed against her shoulder.

She turned to press her lips to his cheek, ghosting them across his cheekbone. His lips soon met hers and she allowed a breathy moan to pass her lips. His fingers slipped around to her stomach and she giggled at the ticklish sensation. These moments of just Sherlock and her. The moments that wouldn't happen had anyone else been around. The secret care Sherlock spread over her made her feel so important. To him she was.

/

But she wasn't with Sherlock. She was with Jacob and Jacob was not Sherlock. His fingers were rough all over, not just on the tips where Sherlock was a bit calloused from playing the violin. His touch didn't burn with patient desire. It didn't spark the flame in her stomach. It wasn't as intimate as Sherlock's touch, it was impersonal, meaning that to her, Jacob's touch made her feel nothing. Jacob must have sensed it for his hand dropped from the back of her neck, to rest behind her on the bed.

Before she could stop it, words poured from her mouth, "Why did you do it?" She could feel his body go rigid beside her. "You helped him." Her voice cracked. "He killed both of our families and you helped him." She turned to look at him. He turned and sat on the side of the bed. "Jacob?" She was careful not to jostle the tray, turning to face his back she reached for him. "You were my friend..." Her hand fell on his shoulder and he jumped, in a quick motion he had her wrist twisted and was facing her. She screamed in pain.

"I had to!" He exclaimed. He tugged her from the bed and she stumbled, falling at his feet. "I had no choice." She whimpered as he tugged on her wrist.

"You did have a choice."

"No!" He yanked her from the floor by her wrist, causing her to scream again. He threw her to the bed. "You couldn't just let it be could you?" His voice was tense and rough. He was angry and at her. "I did all of this for you." His voice was a low growl. "I even took you away from that haunted house so we could be together just like we should be." She tried to put some distance between her and Jacob. "You can't just accept the present and do away with the past." Him looking this way was truly terrifying. She could feel her heart hammer against her ribcage. "Those psychopaths both wanted you, but I knew that we belonged together. As long as I play patsy I could get close to you again, I was able to rid both of them for you!" He flipped the tray, sending it crashing into the wall, mugs shattering. She flinched away from him, crawling higher on the bed, whimpering as she put pressure on her wrist.

"Jacob, please!" She cried.

"No!" He stomped over to her and gripped her by her hair. He stared into her eyes and his face softened seeing the fear. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and slipped past her temples and into her hair. His anger seemed to subside, if only for the moment. His voice came out almost as a whisper. "I'm sorry Hannah. You must learn not to upset me like this." His hand never loosened its grip in her hair. "If you mention it again, I will have to punish you even more so than I will now, do you understand?" She whimpered and nodded. His lips pressed softly to hers and he released her hair, her body falling limp on the bed. "You are going to clean this mess up, and then I want you to return to this room and you are not to come out until I tell you. Understood?" Hannah soothed her aching scalp with her good hand and nodded silently. Jacob took one last look at her, as though he wanted to say something else, but turned and left the room.

Hannah cradled her wrist to her body, the skin already beginning to bruise. It was tender to her touch. She looked over at the shattered mugs, the drink staining the carpet, the cake left a train down the wall. She had to get to a phone and quickly.

…

Sherlock groaned, he pressed his fingers to the area under his nose, bringing them back to see the blood that was gushing from it.

"What the fuck Sherlock!" John yelled. He lifted his friend from the floor and pushed him far away. "What kind of shit was that?" John's fists were tight to his sides, knuckles white. A spattering of blood was on his right hand.

"That's not important right now." Sherlock walked into the kitchen and grabbed a paper towel, tipping his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You faked your own death and that's not important?" John was furious, which was to be expected. Sherlock sighed. "Hannah knew didn't she." Sherlock looked at him from the corner of his eye.

"She knew that if she told you that you would be in danger." Sherlock wiped the blood off of his nose. "I made her swear not to tell you." John looked around at the home that had changed drastically since the last time he was there.

"Well, where is she?" Sherlock ran a napkin under the tap and wiped away the rest of the blood. "Hannah?" John called.

"She's gone." Sherlock stated. He tossed the napkins into the trash. "That is why I called you." John stood opposite Sherlock in the room. That is when he really looked at Sherlock for the first time since seeing him. Sherlock seemed healthier, he had more weight on him than John had ever seen him have, not that it was a bad thing. Sherlock seemed almost normal. His hair was a bit longer, but John assumed Hannah cut it regularly. The last thing he noticed was the panicked expression on Sherlock's face.

"She's been taken."

"Yes." Sherlock frowned.

"Where were you?" Sherlock seemed almost ashamed of himself. He was blaming himself for not being there to protect her.

"I was looking for Moriarty's base." He paused. "Moran took her... Jacob, or whatever you want to call him." Sherlock leaned against the counter, waiting for John to process everything.

"You've been living here with Hannah this whole time?" John's eyes met his and he nodded. "You're with her aren't you?" Sherlock felt a blush creep up his cheeks, willing it to go down.

"We have to find her John." John nodded accepting his friend's avoidance of the question as a 'yes' answer.

"Where do we start?"

…

Hannah placed the remainder of the shattered mugs and plate on the tray. She had set a stain remover into the carpet and cleaned off the wall by the time she heard Jacob put on the television. He had left to buy these supplies for her soon after he left her in the room, returning twenty minutes before to toss the bag of cleaning supplies on her bed, giving her a longing look and then leaving the room once again.

He had a phone. She knew this because he would occasionally take it out and check a message from someone or answer a call as he stepped from the room. This hotel room had no phone, none that she had seen. The phone might have been removed by Jacob before he brought her here. She had to get the phone from his pocket. She would have to get closer to him.

Her punishment was isolation. She thought she could walk the tray and broken glass to the kitchen, but knew she would have to immediately return to her room. She knew she could do something in that span to turn the tables in her favor. Something.

So she collected the remnants of the mess and the bag of cleaning supplies. She quietly walked down the hallway and into the small kitchen area, she dumped the tray into the trash, placing it on the counter. She then set the bag next to it. Jacob was mindlessly watching a show on the television. She stood awkwardly in the doorway. She knew she would have to play along to get him vulnerable enough for her to take his phone.

She walked hesitantly into the room. "Jacob?" She kept her voice soft, he made no motion to acknowledge her. He was positioned in the middle of the couch, his legs apart, hands resting clasped between them. "I'm sorry for how I acted earlier." She slipped into the seat next to him, splaying her fingers on his thigh, rubbing it soothingly. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Can you forgive me?" He placed his hand over hers on his thigh, grasping her fingers with his. He turned to look at her and she tried to look as innocent as possible. And then he kissed her.

In another life, another time, another place, Hannah and Jacob could have been together. The both of them could have grown up, married, and popped out a baby by now. This fact wasn't lost on Hannah. She wondered if this sickness in his head, the one that made him obsessive, was a symptom of the virus called Jim Moriarty.

Had their families not died, had her elder brother not have met Jim, Hannah could imagine them being together. She knew that it wasn't a far possibility. But as she lay wrapped in his arms in the dark of the night, she couldn't help but think of how if her family had never encountered Jim Moriarty that she would not have met Sherlock.

She wondered if it was kismet. Was she always meant to meet Sherlock? Or was it the twist of fate that led her to him instead of with Jacob. Sherlock and Hannah's relationship was slow moving and she wondered if it would have been the same had she not met Jim. So many endless possibilities and all of them spinning around in her head, she couldn't fall asleep. She was wound too tightly in his arms to get to his phone which lay in the kitchen charging, but she knew if she stayed up a bit longer she might be able to slowly work her way out of his grip and into the kitchen.

She slowly shifted herself to her back, slipping from the bed took about ten minutes. She stopped by the side, watching as he snuggled into her pillow. She tiptoed from the room, slipping past the door and crept down the hallway to the kitchen, where his glowing mobile rest next to the coffee maker. She picked it up and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She dialed a familiar number and waited.

"Hello?" The moment she heard Sherlock's voice pick up on the other end she felt a great relief spread through her body.

"Sherlock." Her voice was watery, and she felt her eyes tear up.

"Hannah!" She heard a shuffle on the other end, "Where are you?"

"A hotel in the middle of London, Jacob he-" She heard footsteps walking down the hallway. _Jacob._

"Shhh. I've called John, we're coming to get you. Just... be careful." She screamed as a bang sounded on the bathroom door. "We are coming Hannah."

"Hurry!" And then her line went dead.


	5. Five

**So sorry this is so short and took so long! My life is a mess at the moment, so things will be slow for a while. My sincerest apologies. **

**x Ashley  
**

The fear in Hannah's heart was immense. Jacob gripped her by her hair and threw her to the floor of the bathroom, checking his phone for last number dialed. She felt as though a cinder block rested on her chest. His eyes were pure fury. She kicked at his leg, hitting him in the shin. She was able to get some footing before he could regain his composure. Her feet slipped against the smooth surface of the floor causing her to stumble into the hallway. She raced to the front room, grabbing the large coat off the hanger and yanking open the door.

"You fucking bitch!" She found an elevator in front of her, knowing that it would be faster to take the stairs she diverted to the right. They were about ten stories up, her bare feet and gasping breath the only sound on the stairwell as she wrapped the coat around her. She heard the door to the stairwell open and Jacob's heavy pants. A gunshot went off. "I didn't want to do this Hannah. I really fucking didn't." She screamed as another gunshot went off, hitting the wall in front of her face. "That was your warning." She stopped in her tracks and looked up at him. "Come back upstairs and I won't shoot again."

It was then that she noticed the heaviness in the coat pocket. She slipped her fingers inside as subtlety as possible. She felt the cold metal of a handgun. She wondered if she could pull it out fast enough and even then be able to shoot him. He ran his fingers through his hair, getting it out of his face. "Come back upstairs." His voice was more calm, but she could still feel the threat behind it.

She bit her bottom lip, knowing that she couldn't make it. She had tried, but failed. She lifted her foot to climb back up to him when a gunshot rang out. She saw Jacob duck down and her eyes flew to the staircase below her. Lestrade stood, gun raised, looking at her. "Come on." She took to Lestrade's side. "Go on down, a squad car is waiting." He continued past her and up the stairs. "Put your hands up Moran!"

She didn't hesitate to run down the stairs and out into the lobby, when she reached outside she felt the chill of the night air. She hugged the coat tightly to her body. She spotted Donovan who stood up against the side of the car as Hannah approached. "You don't have shoes!" Hannah nodded, teeth clattering.

"I didn't have time to grab them while running from someone who attempted to kill me." Donovan grabbed a blanket from the back of the squad car and offered it to Hannah who gladly sat and wrapped it around her legs. It wasn't long before more men, in protective gear, entered the hotel and pursued Sebastian along with Lestrade. It seemed to happen in minutes, Lestrade being pulled out of the building by two men, blood seeping out of his shoulder.

Ambulances arrived and Hannah was quickly put into the back of one, protocol they said. A woman with a tight bun and stony face began asking her questions, but Hannah's mind was spinning. She wanted Sherlock, she missed him, and she wanted him at that very moment. The panic in his voice was so unsettling; she needed to see him and the only comfort she found was in the fact that if Lestrade found her, then Sherlock was on his way. With that thought she let her head fall against the gurney and she stared at the ceiling of the ambulance. _Sherlock is on his way. _

…

Sherlock parked the car. The whole way over Sherlock and John sat in a silence not foreign to either. Sherlock often contemplated things while John went about his day, sometimes Sherlock wouldn't move for hours. Although that may be true, John still couldn't shake the feeling of panic held in Sherlock's movements. He hadn't seen Sherlock this shaken up since The Hounds of Baskerville case came upon them. A sweat had broken out on his forehead and his fingers had gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were pure white.

John walked quickly to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. The pair did not say a word as they entered the hospital. Sherlock walked past the front counter and John stared behind him as he reached the elevator, pressing the up arrow in rapid succession. John spoke to the nurse at the counter. "Hannah Winter's room please?" She typed a few things into her computer and rattled off the number '203'. John joined Sherlock as he entered the elevator, the short companion pressing the number two button and then clasping his hands together in front of him.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine." Sherlock's voice was tense and obviously lying. The door opened to level two and Sherlock quickly walked to 203.

Hannah sat in the bed, staring at the seat occupied next to her. "Mycroft?" The pair looked to him.

"Sherlock!" Hannah swung her legs over the bed and ran to the taller man, wrapping her arms around his middle. His hands went to the back of her head and across her shoulders, but he gripped her loosely. Hannah and his brother seemed to be deep in conversation. When Hannah realized he wasn't hugging her back, she pulled away, looking from his face to Mycroft's.

Mycroft Holmes stood from his chair, "We will be in touch Ms. Winters." As Mycroft left the room, Hannah placed her fingers on Sherlock's cheek, turning his head from his calculating stare at the space Mycroft had inhabited. His eyes softened when they met hers.

"Are you alright?" She asked him. He shook his head and pressed his lips to hers, hands cradling her head as he kissed her, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. She parted their lips, "They didn't catch him."

"I know." He pressed his lips against her forehead and hugged her to his chest. Hannah pressed her hands to his chest and pushed him back slightly as John entered the room. Sherlock felt a flush of embarrassment and was grateful for Hannah ending the embrace before John could really see it. They had never been in front of other people displaying affection. The whole relationship had occurred behind the closed doors of the place they both called home.

"Oh thank God." John wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. Sherlock felt a pang of jealousy run through him, but quickly discarded the feeling.

"John." Hannah looked at Sherlock with an amused smile. "I can barely breathe." John smiled and released her.

"I'm just glad you are alright." She nodded and looked back to Sherlock. A nurse came in with a tray which held a cup of steaming water, a tea bag, sugar and cream along with a sandwich. Hannah thanked the woman and sat down on the bed, Sherlock and John moving to sit by her, they sat in silence for a few moments while Hannah ate.

"What do we do now?" She asked. She felt John look at her and shift to look at Sherlock. Her eyes slid up to the dark haired man who was staring blankly at the white hospital blanket. In truth she knew what was going to happen. She knew Sherlock would move his things back into Baker Street. Her apartment had long been sold to an older woman who owned a few too many cats and Hannah had grown comfortable in the country. She knew things wouldn't be the same, not after revealing his death had actually been faked. There were so many loose ends that still needed mending.

He was still wanted for the kidnapping of two children. The loose ends of Moriarty's reign had slowly been tied up by Sherlock, but she knew there was work still to do. He couldn't exactly pretend to be dead again now that he had shown up here. She knew this peaceful moment, the quietness of this moment, this tiny room with it's one occupied bed, the two seats on either side of her bed which were occupied by two people she never thought she would still be talking to this time last year, this moment felt like the calm before the storm. Because while Jacob or Sebastian or whatever he called himself was still on the loose, they have to defend Sherlock's innocence. And innocence marred by the fact a group of policemen were entering the hospital to arrest him at this moment.

Sherlock knew this. Hannah knew this. John knew this. It wasn't discussed, but assumed. And from the commotion in the hallway they knew it would be soon.

"Sherlock..." Hannah could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She has missed him for far too long and he's about to be taken from her again. His hands rested on his thighs, she slipped her fingers into his and brought his attention away from the bedding. "Please tell me you have figured it out. You won't go to jail. Please tell me that." He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Donovan and two men entering the room. John gripped Hannah's other hand as Sherlock stood from the bed. "No. Donovan." The woman looked at Hannah, watching as Hannah tried to get up from the bed.

"Miss Winters if you try and intervene then you will also be arrested, is that clear?" Hannah glared at her and went to speak again,

"Sit down." She looked over at Sherlock. His tone sent a shock of upset through her. She almost cried at the cruel tone of his words. She knew it was unintentional, but she wanted to see what was going through his head. She sunk back down onto the bed and watched as the two large men went to grab Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes you are under arrest for the kidnapping of-" Hannah stared at Sherlock, waiting for him to give her a look or sign that he could get himself out of this. Anything would have been comforting, but he simply held his wrists out and let himself get handcuffed and escorted from the room, his eyes met hers once more before he disappeared completely.

Hannah let out an involuntary whimper and John wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. She grasped his forearms, staring at the closed door still. She felt a bubbling anger. Even after he's dead Moriarty is fucking with her life. She let go of John and stood from the bed. She looked over at the empty seat where Sherlock was a few minutes before and grabbed the coat from the back of it. "Hannah?" She wrapped it around herself tightly, slipping a pair of hospital socks on her feet. "Are you leaving dressed like that?"

"We don't have much of a choice." She bit her bottom lip. "We have to get him out of there, and I want him out as soon as possible." She wrenched open the door to the room and peered into the hallway. "He saved me, I save him." She walked out into the hallway and looked for an exit John following close behind.

"How do you plan to do that?" She shrugged.

"I took a few criminal law classes," She paused. "And I knew Jim Moriarty, I knew him very well." They paused outside the door of the side exit they found. "Are you in?" John laughed, sticking his hands into his pockets and smiled at her.

"Of course."


End file.
